


Congruent

by m00dymalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Anxiety, Dark Magic, Death, Death Eaters, Dramione- freeform, Emotional, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter Dies, Healing, Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, I Made Myself Cry, Minor Character Death, Occlumency (Harry Potter), POV Hermione Granger, Polyjuice Potion, Post-Hogwarts, Protective Draco Malfoy, Psychological Trauma, Redemption, Second War with Voldemort, Self-Harm, Slow Burn Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Time Travel, Time Turner (Harry Potter), Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29173389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m00dymalfoy/pseuds/m00dymalfoy
Summary: congruent (kong-groo-uhnt): in agreement or harmony.Harry Potter is dead. All hope is lost. Hermione gets sent to prison as she awaits her trial to see if she is deemed worthy to live in this world Voldemort has dictated. Despite her blood class, he spares her– only if she fulfills a mission: To kill everyone who fought alongside Potter. Draco Malfoy is her assigned monitor to track her progress along the way. Will they defy odds?*rights unfortunately belong to JKR. meh*Mature themes present: please take caution-Self Harm/Suicide-Depression-Sexual Themes-Violence18+ highly advised
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	1. one

May 2, 1998

It was over.

The Dark Mark dancing in the sky was the epicenter- the eye of a hurricane. Slowly, the skull repeatedly opened its mouth to let the snake recoil as it hissed in satisfaction, reclaiming its rightful land.

But the hurricane wasn't done, it was hungry. Starved. The insubstantial twilight clouds cascading, like waves in the ocean, engulfing the stars as its prey- endlessly spreading its demise. It became immensely dark, impenetrable for the light to break through. Not even the brightest star in the sky could puncture its shield.

For it craved anything that shimmered a speck of light.

The mighty fortress they grew to call home- the safest establishment in the wizarding world, wasn't enough.

Slowly, it decayed away. The stone exterior was caving away, free falling into the abyss. The roofing was subsiding, unable to support any more weight of destruction.

The castle she -or perhaps anyone- grew to hold sentiment in their hearts. A home for those who grew up with revolting upbringing. A home to those who had none.

A lot of her firsts happened at Hogwarts, memories she had clung to for nostalgia. First kiss. First love. First heartbreak. First death. First time. She wouldn't trade those recollections of thought for anything.

All those years were wasted, countless hours of meticulous planning to get where they stood. All the hardships they have been through since they were children, suffering together as they watched numerous friends and family perish this very night.

"Harry Potter is dead!"

Lightning began to rumble in the clouds, brewing to a slow boil at the exact moment Voldemort roared out triumphantly.

She lowered her wand, almost dropping it from the trembling present in her hand -unable to control the feverish muscle movement. Her eyes maneuvered to Harry's limp body, lifeless and statuesque. To her side, she squeezed Ron's hand, holding as if her life depended on it. She couldn't let go, afraid of the thought that he too, would be dead. The tears kept streaming down her face, endlessly. She gulped back a sob, had to be strong in this moment, even though she was absolutely broken.

Ron was hiding his emotions well. He was pale as marble and his mouth was quivering a frown, but he was much braver than her despite the situation.

She could see the glimpse red hair of Ginny Weasley let out a heart wrenching wail, running forward to his body. But Molly took hold of her shirt, abruptly pulling her back to place. Ginny fought against her, but it took George, Mr. Weasley, and Percy all the might left in their bodies, to keep her from fleeing.

"You foolish girl," Voldemort waved his wand fluidly, gesturing toward his followers. "Mourning for someone who was weak and insubordinate." He cackled into a nefarious laugh, his followers rejoicing shortly after.

"The only foolish one around these lots is you!" A powerful cry from the audience broke through, it sounded like a girl.

This caused a ruckus amongst the Death Eaters, insults and profanities bellowed as wands were pointed towards their direction.

Voldemort shot his hand up, the shouts diminishing immediately. "Now, now. No need for that. Girl, will you come forth so I can see your face?"

The crowd was retracting back- moving and swaying as the girl approached before him. It was hard for her to make out whom it was, until she saw the familiar headband and curly brown hair.

Lavender Brown.

It provoked her that Lavender Brown always had that leverage over her, but she couldn't dwell on that- especially since Ron was hers now. Those petty demeanors were futile, especially with the situation on hand.

Voldemort cocked his head to the side- pondering his next move, flourishing his wand in the air aimlessly.

Lavender drew nearer, clutching her wand at her side. The steps from her flats being the only sound present, clashing against the concrete.

This reminded her of those western movies her father forced her to watch as a child-one of his favorites. The scene where they draw their guns up, counting to mere seconds of their demise. Everytime she would ask why it was necessary, it just seemed uncivilized to waste your life playing around with guns. What for? Love? Revenge?

He gave her a warm squeeze, nuzzling closer. "That was how they settled things back then, dear. These were the good old days."

If he only knew what the world has come to. Her world.

Voldemort meandered in a circle around her, moving like the wind. The endless dark cloak swaying behind, following as a shadow.

"What do we have here?" His tone neutral, closing in on her. The way his head hung over her shoulder, inhaling sharply to catch her scent, sent shivers down her spine.

"Pureblood, are we?"

Lavender was silent, unable to succumb to a response.

"Let it be known what shall happen when you defy me!" Voldemort stalked around her body once more- facing his foes on the other side of the battlefield, clapping his hands in satisfaction once he concluded.

His slender fingers beckoned to Nagini, slithering its scaly figure effortlessly across the plane- resembling the waves of the ocean, as its body curled and swayed. "You know what to do."

It was as if Lavender had froze, scared to even flinch an inch. Hermione admired her for her bravery and strength of standing her ground.

Suddenly, Nagini striked- causing Lavender to collapse. Her breath hitched, forcing more strain to the hand that Ron clutching, unease had startled to settle in the depths of her stomach.

There was this feeling of impending doom inside - imminent catastrophe by an overwhelming force.

A flashback flooded through her mind as she watched Nagini continuously lunge at Lavender, reminding her of how Snape had died the exact way.

Lavender tried to shield herself, legs drawn to her chest as she lay in fetal position. Helpless. Stiff. Blood started to pool on the ground beneath her- spilling out with each heartbeat, picking up momentum.

Voldemort snapped his fingers as Nagini proceeded to force its way down Lavender's throat. Hermione cringed, she could feel the pain swell in her windpipe.

The snake had made its way fully inside Lavender, unaware of her surroundings from the gross amount of blood loss. The girl was semiconscious, slipping away into death's hands, welcoming the reaper as an old friend.

Hermione couldn't bear what she had witnessed, dismissing her eyes away from the gore in front of her. She buried her head into Ron's shoulder, it was a comfort having him as her safeguard.

Nagini had urged itself out of Lavender's body, exiting through her stomach. She was slumped over, desolate, holding the open gash over her stomach. The serpentine was covered in crimson red, slinking its way toward its master.

Lavender was aspirating in her own blood, a guttural wheeze kept cutting in the air. Somehow, she had managed to stand on her feet- weak, looking for a ledge to grip to.

The horror present in her eyes, full of worry and pain.

Slowly, till the eyes rolled to the back of her head- lolling back to hit the cement on the floor.

She was dead.

The air felt rare, light, almost sterile. Hermione felt desensitized to death, no emotion evoked. They lost too many souls tonight, souls that deserved a second chance. In the back of her mind, a mild state of relief coursed through- knowing none had to suffer anymore.

No more pain, destruction, or fear.

She wanted more than anything to run over to Lavender and close her eyes, to respect her camaraderie, apologize for being so crude to her in sixth year.

Voldemort used his foot to turn Lavender's head to the side, staring down with emotionless eyes. "Such a waste of blood and potential." Spitting at her in disgust. He stepped on top of her and made his way to the middle, stopping briefly midway. "I will give you one last shot to join me now," throwing his hands into the air, as he continued his speech. "Join me now and all is forgiven. I can show you great power and fortune, a world where balance and order is restored. If you don't, you shall be imprisoned and await trial to deem if you're worthy."

The air had shifted suddenly, hesitation from the crowd. A couple of Slytherins hastily crossed the boundary line- Parkinson, Zabini, Nott, Goyle, and Malfoy. Of course it was those five, all children of Death Eaters no less.

Something was off with Malfoy, her attention was drawn to him. Unlike the other Slytherins- eager and detached like a closed book, Malfoy was an open book. He radiated this glimmer- a light finding its way through a dark burrow. The way his eye color had darkened- clouded, catatonic, a tornado ripping through a field. His chiseled jawline clenched, corner of his mouth taut, pale as the snow on Christmas morning.

He was terrified.

There were a few from other houses, but she couldn't recognize them. She had deduced it was out of terror, scared for the future ahead, unable to predict the next chapter.

The wind grew stronger- thunder growling in the clouds, as the rain cried down from the sky. She had a sixth sense that the storm was just the beginning. Hermione tugged at Ron's arm, gesturing to him to follow her.

Ron stood his ground, shook his head- careful to not move his lips too much. "Mione, we can't just leave. It looks too obvious. We have a target on our backs."

"I have a bad feeling Ron, like something bad is going to happen," she whispered, eyes flickering toward the oppositions.

Her hunch was right- after all the years of assisting Potter, one's radar becomes keen to certain situations.

His army- snickering to themselves as they all lined up in various battle positions- were prepared to fight, to kill. Voldemort snapped his fingers and his army charged ahead-shooting unforgivables left and right.

Hermione and Ron got swallowed into the crowd, everyone pushing and shoving their ways through- thank Merlin she still had a hold of his hand.

She had her eyes adjusted on the Dark Lord, wanting to plot her strategy to end him, wanting to get glory for the fallen ones, wanting to cause him the pain he has caused everyone around her.

But he was gone. He had apparated out of the battlefield. Even worse, she had caught the gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange- blaring her teeth like a python, wanting to finish her project left from Malfoy Manor.

She was being pulled by Ron- cutting corners and dodging curses flying past their head. A part of the castle was starting to pummel down-free falling, increasing in speed. Ron was too busy keeping his gaze ahead, guiding them to a safe space. They were back inside the castle, zipping past corridors.

Hermione aimed her wand toward the tumbling tower, " _Reducto_!"

It had exploded mid air, causing small particles of stone and rock to fall on top of their heads. Ron halted suddenly, making Hermione buckle her knees- thrusting her upper body forward from the sudden notion.

"We must keep going! I'm afraid that--" her voice trailed off, once she had noticed the familiar professor- limping and hobbling, hair wildly loose around the tight bun.

McGonagall.

Hermione hurried over, ducking her head to guide the teacher's arm behind her shoulder- Ron copying her exact movement- so that McGonagall could evenly distribute weight off the injured extremity.

"You two should go on ahead, I'm sure you are the number one target now."

Lowering her on a step, she began assessing the injury- ignoring the professor's statement. The kneecap was immensely swollen, starting to turn a reddened color. " _Brackium Emendo!_ " She whispered out, finishing with a bandaging charm.

Ron casted a Stupify to an incoming Death Eater. "Mione, we need to," -another stunning charm-"keep going." The urgency flooded his tone.

McGonagall stood, already in a dueling stance- keeping her guard up. "I am grateful to you for healing my injury, but I must implore that you two leave immediately. I suggest heading towards the Forbidden Forest and apparating from the boundary line." Her hand waving in the air- shooing them away like an insect. "You two are the only hope we have." The professor immediately fended three Death Eaters off, alternating between protective and offensive charms.

Hermione wanted to stay, to help her friends- family. But Bellatrix and two others were trailing behind them, ready to spill blood.

They did as they were told, running towards the forest. Nothing but the leaves hitting their ankles, trees shaking with vibrations. While mid sprint, she mumbled wandless magic- _Silencio, Muffilatio, Quietus, Protego_ \- hoping to buy extra time to gather her thoughts.

Hermione cast a weak concealment charm, giving them minutes to discuss the next step. She halted Ron- hand resting on his shoulder as she tried to distribute her breathing. "Where are we going? Forest of Dean? Bill and Fleur's safehouse?"

Ron shook his head "I think it's too obvious. We need somewhere we haven't been."

"Mudblood, where are you?" The smooth voice cooed out, echoing through the trees.

Her breathing faltered, brain rattling for answers. A high pitch red flare sped in the air, hitting Ron in the chest- pushing him back a couple feet.

"RON!" She made her way toward him, tears welling in her eyes.

" _Petrificus Totalus_!"

Hermione was frozen- body stiff and paralyzed like a marble statue. Gravity took control, knocking her to the ground sideways. Her head smacked against the earth, feeling a warm liquid slid down by her ear.

The only part of her body she could move was her eyes- Ron's legs got up sluggishly, until he got knocked back down again. And again.

Bellatrix's boots stepped into her peripheral vision, creeping towards her body. There were two sets of legs in front of her- two males, unknown identity.

Her eyes felt cold, stung from inability to blink. There were heavy copper chains, resting onto her stomach. Bellatrix had then proceeded to tie her down, limb by limb.

The pain was intense, scorching her till each layer was involved. Hermione read about these chains- they were used for the prisoners in Azkaban to repel magic. A mere touch to a magical being caused pain, reminding her of a burn, but more extreme. She could only let the tears fall down her cheek, the only expression of pain she could emote.

"Let her go!" Ron demanded out, chanting out a hex.

Bellatrix countered the attack, ricochet back to him- grunting out from the penetration. "Silly boy, to defend a Mudblood." Her voice was silky, making sure to pronounce each world.

"Kill them both, Bellatrix, all of Potter's allies must be eliminated!"

"Quiet, Yaxley!" She hissed out. "Our Dark Lord will determine what he wants to do with them. For now, we are supposed to send them to Azkaban in the meantime."

Yaxley sighed to himself, disarming Ron's wand- all while Bellatrix and another tied him in the same chains she was in. By the looks of the other man, he was burly- arms well defined, ouly hair put back into a low ponytail. He turned his head to a side profile and she recognized his face instantly. All the wanted posters hanging in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley with his face, twisting into a smile.

Fenrir Greyback.

Ron fought against the chains- kicking and punching against their grip. "Hold still, boy!" Greyback growled out, tightening his grip around his arm.

Ron spit at him, causing Greyback to let go- his hand slowly wiped the sputum off his face. From his side profile, she could sense how angry he was- the way his fingers curled in and out of a fist, chest angrily rising, brow furrowed.

Before turning away from him, Fenrir punched him hard in the face- leaving Ron with a broken nose, bruises slowly marking his face- as he repeatedly beat him.

Bellatrix turned back to Hermione, arrogantly striding to her. "Don't worry, darling. I didn't forget about you."

" _Finite Incantatem_!"

All feeling came back to her- an earthquake shattering scream escaped her, the pain catching up so suddenly.

" _Crucio_!"

Bones broke, knives stabbing, body seizing as muscles contorted in every direction- the worst affliction in her entire life has flashed before her eyes.

Bellatrix broke the spell- licking her teeth through her evil smile, continued to grab a fistful of her hair forcing her to stand on her feet. Hermione was weak- weak from the unforgivable, weak from fighting, weak from heart break. Her knees collapsed slightly, unable to bear her weight.

"If the Dark Lord hadn't specifically told me to not kill you," -forcing her head to look at her, nose on nose- "You would be long dead." Bellatrix jeered out, reaching into her cleavage to reveal a tiny bottle of dark blue potion.

Hermione recognized immediately what it was, Sleeping Draught. She clenched her lips together, resisting Bellatrix force feeding the liquid to her. One of her fingers had slipped into her mouth, tipping the vial slowly. Hermione bit down on her finger, causing the digit to retract.

"You bitch!" Beatrix shrieked, aiming the wand at her while muttering a spell out.

Specks of light rushed toward her iris, until pitch black took over- she was unconscious. This must be what it felt like, to be overcome by darkness- a curtain shutting out the light from within. To feel empty, silent- a prisoner of the night. Drowning in demons that are unable to be exorcised. The light that fought to stay aflame was burning out, there was no more hope to fight for.

This is her cell, this is hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I break you, I apologize in advance. Please be patient with me as I update. I have no set schedule due to my crazy life so I apologize. I hope you still continue to support me through this rollercoaster :) hope you enjoy 
> 
> Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Hg3uiJDCjt0gpJMKE6v0o?si=31Bv3RfQT5Wdovrga47ofA&utm_source=copy-link


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: potential rape, please read with caution

November 24, 1998

There were 3,423 stone tiles on the floor, 164 lines in between the stone slabs. 

Endless amounts of people emitted agonizing groans, echoing off the hallway.

Hermione didn't know how long it had been. Days, weeks, months, years– it was hard to tell. There were no windows in her cell. The only light emitting from the room was an illumination charm– a small ball hanging from the ceiling. 

The days dragged on excruciatingly slow– each hour felt like a millisecond had passed. Hermione felt as if she were stuck in an hourglass, drowning in the sand that never seemed to stop falling. Each day repeated itself, stuck in the same tortmented time vortex. In other words, she felt like she was living in an indefinite hell.

From what she estimated, food got delivered every six hours– it was inedible, to say the least. Always oatmeal or a piece of bread. On rare occasions, she got grilled rats– only because of her blood class. 

After whatever delicacy-of-the-day was consumed, she would pace about her cell– reciting charms, potions recipes, healing spells– Anything to keep her busy from recalling past traumas. Not that it made a difference, she hardly ever cried. 

Maybe it was the fact she was dehydrated– skin dry and cracked, hair brittle, cotton mouthed. Or was it the fact she grew accustomed to destruction? Watching the bomb slowly tick away at her, imploding from inside– leaving her with an empty void, suffocating every feeling she perceived.

She fought against sleep, dreaded the nightmares that flashed back in her mind. Not that it mattered anyway, her circadian rhythm has been unstable since sixth year. It was constant, unforgiving– replaying the deaths of her friends like a broken record.

Harry, Dumbledore, Tonks, Lupin, Fred, Snape, Dobby, Lavender.

Repeat.

It made her numb, to the point she had no emotion or feeling. Death had become her companion, following her like a shadow– always lurking, waiting to laugh in her face at the pathetic attempt of trying to play God. 

Is this what it truly felt like to be empty? The interior ripped away, leaving the exterior shell of the body soulless– stone cold, a Dementor's Kiss away from being left to rot in eternal doom; watching as her soul gets raked through the mud.

Hermione was angry. She couldn't remember how she got in this cell. The only thing she could recall was Bellatrix forcing Sleeping Draught down her throat.

She dove through her mind, concentrating on the blurry and faint memories.

_There were black dots surrounding her vision, a fuzzy light– teetering in out of consciousness. She could feel friction at the bottom of her thighs, slowly being dragged on the ground. A tight magical strand of rope hugging tightly against her arms._

_It was pitch black and raining in the twilight. His ginger hair was striking against the eerie sky– blood splattered across his face as she eyed him from her peripherals._

_"The Dark Lord wants the Mudblood alive. It was stated clearly to me," an unfamiliar male voice whispered out. "As for Weasley, he has something special planned for him."_

_A scoff retorted back– a female, she presumed. "Would be better if he killed them both, it's what they deserve." The female turned to face her, she was unable to make out her face from how cloudy her vision was._

_"Maybe we will get to torture them when we get there," his voice hissed out._

_"Yeah right, we have to sit in on trials after this. You know the drill."_

_"Don't remind me. What is the point of a judicial system? Just kill them all, especially all the Order members. They are the ones causing harm, ruining our operation to--"_

_"Psst, She's waking up," the female voice urged out._

_Abruptly stopping, she felt her head smack to the ground. A splitting ache radiated through her head. Her face scrunched up and winced from discomfort._

_"Fucking Lestrange. Who gives someone Sleeping Draught to knock them out?" He looked down at her. "This should do the trick." His foot smashed against her face– breaking her nose and losing consciousness._

Instinctively, she rubbed her nose– regardless of how many times that memory replayed in her mind, she always remembered the pain inflicted on her. It was the last memory of that night, and it had haunted her most of the time.

She started to pick her scabs on the scar– starting with the M till she finished with D. The pain and blood was an outlet for her– watching it ooze down her forearm, coursing like a river. Something about the scratching distracted her from the ache in her heart. She was unsure what the world was like outside– whether Ron was alive or dead, or how the other members of The Order were fairing. If they were alive, that is.

The steel door opening echoed through the hallway– presumably a guard making its rounds. Hermione hadn't known how many cells there were, but she knew she was in the last one. The footsteps resounded off the floor, creeping closer to her.

She was used to this routine, someone always came to torture her often. If she were honest, she looked forward to it– analyzing the face of the oppressor. The way the Cruciatus Curse left with ease from their tongue, not hesitating for a second. The way they smiled at her as she writhed on the ground. The way their eyes lit aflame when she screamed till her vocal cords gave out. Numerous times she was kicked, strangled, burned, cut– anything imaginable was done. She was a punching bag for them to take their aggression out on. 

She pushed it to the back of her mind, making a mental list of people to kill in the future. 

Voldemort, Bellatrix, Yaxley, Pettigrew, Greyback. 

The footsteps grew closer and closer. His large body cast a shadow over her, and she held a palm of her hand against her nose as the aroma of blood and sweat wafted in the air.

 _Greyback_.

"Hello, Mudblood," he said, licking his teeth and flaring his nose, mid smirk."I could smell that polluted scent of yours from across the hall."

He whispered a quiet Alohomora, his claw-like fingers clutching his wand. She wanted to retort back, but her throat was so dry– couldn't muster a single sentence. Hermione still was hugging herself, arms wrapped around her knees. 

Greyback stalked over to her, slowly examining her as if he were hunting his prey. He tilted his head to the side as he towered over her. "Get up."

She couldn't move, her brain wasn't sending any signals to her body– not that she wanted to listen, anyway.

"I said, _GET UP_!" he commanded, grabbing a fistful of her hair to pull her on her feet. She let a small whimper out, eyes pooling with tears from the sudden motion. "You know, many people want you dead." His voice was smooth, making her skin crawl. "I seem to disagree. I have a better plan." He pushed her hair behind her ear causing her breathing to stagger, increasing her heart rate. "Voldemort is blinded by your blood status. I, for one, think you could be useful." His lips were by her ear, brushing against her lobe. "You could be my little prodigy. All that built up anger and resentment could make you stronger– A weapon for destruction."

It felt like the walls around her were caving in, like she was going to be swallowed whole. "Please, no," she breathed out, surprised by her ability to speak a word.

Greyback shook her once, viscously– causing her to hold in a gasp, swallowing it away. "I could take that pain and suffering away. You could feel nothing, be fueled by hatred. If you just... _relax_." His one hand traveled to her breast, groping them tightly.

A tear fell down her cheek. Her brain was telling her to scream for help, for someone– anyone. But she forgot she was in prison, no one cared about her or the fact she was getting sexually harassed by a mass murder. His hand traveled further down towards her pelvis region. 

Her muscles instinctively tensed. "What's the matter, Mudblood? This not up to your speed?" He switched positions suddenly, holding her in a chin lock stance. She could feel his sharp canine teeth against her jugular, her pulse was racing.

His teeth started to slowly sink into her, while his other hand worked its way down her jeans.

At any moment, his teeth could sink deeper and she would be a werewolf. Surely, it was better this way– it wasn't the worst offense that could happen. 

She went down the list. Being a werewolf was better than being a Death Eater, better than being a vampire, better than being dead. She would be like Lupin and learn to control the wolf instincts and moon cycles. Hermione methodically recited the ingredients to the Wolfsbane potion to heavily distract herself from being simultaneously raped and turned.

_Aconite, myrrh, moonseed, valerian roots, powdered silver._

_First, boil the valerian roots till they are soft. Then you crush the moonseed, making sure to save the outer shell for a longer outcome._

"Greyback," a low voice called from the other side of her cell. "What are you doing here?" 

She knew that voice, it was a cool, bored tone. It sounded so familiar, but she couldn't quite place a name or face. 

He licked the nape of her neck. "Just sampling, seeing who my next target could be." 

"Shall I summon the Dark Lord, then? I don't think he would be thrilled if you turned the filthy little Mudblood into a werewolf."

She dug through her mind, searching out memories of that exact voice speaking out to her. A shiver ripped down her spine as years of slurs and bullying clouded her sensorium. This same voice had been a rock in her shoe since first year, belonging to the same person who went out of their way just to slam books from her hand in the hallways. The same person who enjoyed starting ludicrous rumors about her and the trio.

Draco Malfoy.

Greyback growled, pushing Hermione to the ground– falling sideways and landing on her shoulder. She hugged herself again, sliding into a fetal position on the floor. 

"You're lucky I can't kill you." Greyback swayed his way over to Draco, showing dominance in his stance. "Because I would kill you first if I had the chance. You are a clone of your pathetic father. Worthless, vermin scum."

Draco pointed his wand directly at Greyback's throat, the blood vessels in his hand protruded from the tight grip around the wand. "Don't ever talk about my father like that. I will fucking rip you to shreds. Hear me?"

Greyback smirked, backing away from him. "Darkness suits you." He sharply turned away, strolling down the hallway until his image was gone.

Draco huffed a couple breaths out, regaining his composure. He had a hold of a girl– someone she couldn't identify. Draco cocked his head at her, glaring down at her. "What are you looking at, Granger?"

Hermione was unable to make out his expression or face– her eyes were too welled up in tears to see straight, body still trembling from Greyback's heinous act.

He opened the cell and shoved the girl inside it, causing her to fall on her knees– she cried out from the force of it all. Immediately, he closed the cell, turning his head to expose his side profile. "All the other cells are occupied. You two are going to have to share." He started to walk away before he halted. "That makes us even, Granger. No one is going to rescue you next time. You can rot in there for all I care." 

Hermione managed a few tears, whatever was leftover in the reservoir. Was this what she was subjected to? To not even exist, not to be human, but to be an item– used and frayed. An item someone forgot about, tired of being played with. She would die alone in this cell, with no one to tell her story, to remember her by. 

The faint lingering smell on her wool sweater brought her comfort, a warm sensation slowly blanketed her with aspiration. She sharply inhaled the smell- teakwood, wood burning, freshly mown grass. The same smell bringing her back to sixth year, the smell she associated with his warm embrace. 

Ron.

Instantly, she felt at ease- could feel herself recollect her thoughts. This is what they wanted, for her to feel weak and shattered, like broken glass on the floor- unable to be put back to its original form. They wanted her to wither away, become pliable, wanting to control her like a puppet. Hermione needed to pick up the pieces and mend herself, become strong and unyielding, especially now. This prison was making her go mad, doubting her every move. Her insecurities flooded her till she drowned, gulping for a taste of freedom in the oxygen that was suffocating her.

Hermione brushed some dirt off her pant leg, standing awkwardly as she looked over at the stranger beside her. She had black deranged hair- cut to a short bob to her chin. The clothes she was wearing were battered, covered in dirt and blood, multiple tears and holes throughout the articles. The girl was extremely unkempt, body odor putrid- not that she could blame her, she too probably looked and smelled the exact same. She cowered in the corner, face twitching ever so slightly, as she rocked back and forth on the floor with her arms around herself.

Hermione approached her, slowly. "I won't hurt you." As she reached out to touch her, the girl flinched and scooted back toward the wall. 

"Pl-please don't. I-I just want to be left alone," she croaked out between a sob, which sounded too familiar to her.

Hermione examined the girl in finer detail- freckles speckled on her face, warm chocolate brown eyes, the intimate striped jumper she knitted her friend for Christmas.

It was Ginny Weasley. 

"Ginny? Is that you?" she susurrated out, holding out her hand once again. 

The girl gave her a perplexed look, shaking her head repeatedly. "I don't know who that is. I am Penelope Clearwater." There was finality in her voice, turning her head away from Hermione. 

"Ginny, you don't need to lie to me. I know it's you." Hermione crossed her arms as she continued on. "I made you that jumper for Christmas. You were the only one person I ever talked to boys about. You told me, before anyone else, that you loved H-" her voice cracks and she abruptly stops– swallowing his name down her throat while blinking away tears. 

Ginny wrapped her arms tightly around Hermione and squeezed. "Hermione, I thought you were dead!" She could feel Ginny's tears fall onto her shoulder. 

"I wondered the same, assumed I was the last one alive from the Order." She broke away from her, picking up a strand of the jet black hair. Ginny looked like a completely different person, especially with her darker hair. Hermione knew what she had done and it was completely brilliant, to say the least. "Ginny, did you disguise yourself as Penelope?"

Ginny nodded, picking at the strand of her jumper while shuffling slightly on her feet. "Before I got captured, I cut off my hair and cast a concealment charm. If they knew I was a Weasley, I don't think I would be alive."

Hermione expelled an incredulous gasp of amazement for the friend. "Absolutely genius of you!" The demeanor inside her flipped like a switch– from utter shock of seeing her best companion alive and well, to complete perturbation. So many questions flew through Hermione's head, spilling out in one single breath. "Who is alive and dead? How many prisoners are there? Did the Order retreat? Is Ron alive? How long have you been in here? What does--"

Ginny held up her hands, pausing her rapid fire questions. "I honestly can't tell you what month or day it is. We have been on the run for a while– Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, and I. We got spotted by Godric's Hollow while we scavenged for supplies and food, but I got captured. The others thankfully got away."

Hermione let out a breath of relief. To know there was still hope left in the world– to know there were survivors– it had filled her with something she hadn't felt in a very long time. There was a chance. "Oh thank Merlin." 

"It's different out there, Hermione," Ginny's voice changed, almost pensive. "It's only getting worse. Demolition and death are everywhere, increasing each day. War changes a person, some people converted to his side out of fear. If I am being honest, it is safer here, away from the war." Her voice began to falter. "Where did we go wrong?" 

Hermione had been replaying different scenarios of alternate endings since she had been here, wondering what the outcome would look like. In the end, she still asked herself the same question. 

_Where did we go wrong?_

"The trials are brutal, Hermione, mentally and physically exhausting. I just finished before Malfoy threw me into this cell."

Malfoy. The bile was creeping its way up her throat at the mere sound of his name. "Did he hurt you, Gin?"

Ginny shuddered, moving her hands up and down her arms. "I was tortured for weeks, hardly remembered since I was so dazed." 

Hermione added to her list, kept reciting it to make her intentions known: Voldemort, Bellatrix, Yaxley, Pettigrew, Greyback, Malfoy. 

"What kind of questions did they ask you?"

"Loads of information. The Order's plans, horcruxes, who were dead and alive, safehouses. It was all under the influence, too, they give you--"

The gate was opening, another guard coming down towards their cell. It seemed too early on their schedule for them to torture her– if there even was a schedule. 

Slowly, Theodore Nott approached their ward– walking slyly while twirling his wand fluidly through his fingertips, very effortlessly. 

"Good news, Granger, your hearing is today. Bad news, it's now." Theo reached a hand in his pocket, pulling out a vile. He handed out to her. "Drink this."

She eyed him skeptically, unaware what type of potion it was. It was in a basic flask, she was unable to tell what color the liquid was. It was clever of them to do so– They had most likely anticipated her niche for potions. Hermione smacked it out of his hand, causing the glass to burst onto the floor. 

Theo released a small laugh, nodding his head as he licked his lips side to side. "Frisky one, aren't you? They won't be too happy about that." He looked down at his wand and clicked his tongue. "You leave me with no choice but to do it the hard way." 

Hermione wanted to continue her talk with Ginny. She was itching for more answers to relieve her heavy heart. She braced herself, slowly backing away from the door as it opened. 

" _Stupefy_!"

Everything went pitch black, as she was once again lost in the memories that plagued her mind.

She revised her list once more: Voldemort, Bellatrix, Yaxley, Pettigrew, Greyback, Malfoy, and Nott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the beginning >:)
> 
> Playlist  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Hg3uiJDCjt0gpJMKE6v0o?si=31Bv3RfQT5Wdovrga47ofA&utm_source=copy-link


	3. three

November 25, 1998 

Hermione opened her heavy lidded eyes, seeing black and white spots sporadically around her- trying to refocus her gaze to her surroundings.

This was new scenery- not the same 3,423 stone slab wall she desperately counted each day, begging for a different number each time. Instead, she was in a circular room coated with black obsidian walls and black marble floors. 

The air was heavy and frigid- burning her lungs with each inhale. She tried to change positions, the severe ache in her spine was screaming out. As she tried to move, a sharp object pierced the top of her skin- enough to invoke the slightest amount of pain, radiating deep inside her bones. At first, feeling like a cat scratch- until it gradually multiplied into a searing stab so deep it felt like the knife impaled towards her apex.

 _Deeper and deeper_.

Her back slightly arched against the infliction while simultaneously being barged back into an upright position. She guided her eyes downward and caught a glimpse of the shambles restraining the upper and lower extremities. 

Her breathing staggered, causing her heart beat to match the accord. There was barely any room to move- let alone breathe. The metal encircling her reminded her of a snake coiling itself slowly- teasing with its enticing grip- gradually constricting more and more as it snatched the oxygen from her lungs, leaving the vital organ hollow. 

She hated enclosed spaces, much less, the inability to take control of her body. It was as if the part of her brain that controlled her fine motor skills had broken its ties with the synapses. Instead of fretting, she slowly controlled her breaths- imagining she was elsewhere. Somewhere open, movable, _free_. Away from the war.

And she eased. 

After regaining her composure, Hermione remembered this cage from when they infiltrated the Ministry with Harry and Ron. The cages were barbaric, pure copper laced with steel metal formed into cylinder bars. Copper was resistant against magic- mixing it with steel practically made the cages indestructible. The exterior had multiple spikes, ready to impale anyone who got too close. 

"I wouldn't squirm too much if I were you." A sarcastic voice sounded out from the shadows along the furthest wall, pulling her back to reality as she refocused on her surroundings.

She hadn't heard this voice before, it was new. Almost crisp and a soft baritone. 

The figure emerged from the dark, His hair was dark blonde, slicked back tightly with an obnoxious amount of hair gel. His green eyes burned through her, scrutinizing every inch of her body as he looked her up and down, tilting his head slightly. They reminded her of moss on the trees in the forest. She tried to match his intense glare, instead of focusing on his striking cheekbones as the overhead light reflected off of them.

Adrian Pucey.

"About time you wake up sweetheart," he muttered in between the puffs of his cigarette.

"Where am I?"

The corner of his lip curved upward. "The Ministry. Did you forget your hearing is today?" He faced her, slowly exhaling smoke into her face. The grey cloud hovered in the air-polluting her lungs with secondhand smoke. 

She started to cough harshly, causing her body to recoil from the aftermath. Again, the sharp pain made its reappearance. She winced back the cough that was tickling against her throat. 

"Didn't I just say not to squirm?" Adrian sighed, irritation present. "These cages are cursed, inflicting pain on anyone who tries to move."

"That is completely--"

"Against moral code? Savage?" His voice went high pitch, as he mocked her, dramatically motioning his arms for effect. "Wake up, princess. It's a new era."

Hermione grinded her teeth, fisting her hand open and close. It was better to say nothing- she didn't want to add logs into the fire that was slowly piling in the pit of her stomach. Instead, she watched him intently- studying him like a book.

"Did I strike a nerve?" He pouted his lip as he slowly started to walk the perimeter of her cage. "I can see the headlines now," His arms emphasized an incredulous announcement. " _The so-called 'Golden Girl' held against her will. The infamous trio in shambles, watching as the world slowly falls in the palm of darkness._ " He stopped in front of her, taking another long drag of his cigarette before tilting his head back, exhaling, fixing her with a sneer.

"So tell me, how does it truly feel to know that all of this was for nothing?" 

"Nothing? You think all those people dying was for nothing?" Her voice was increasing in volume, anger spewing out of every pore in her body. "Those people died because they saw a better world to live in. They wanted justice and freedom from your so-called 'Fearless Leader.' Besides, you hardly know anything about me."

"That fucking Gryffindor mouth of yours is going to get you killed one day." Adrian gave out a faint laugh, withdrawing his wand before continuing on. "I know all about you, Miss Granger- Most Brilliant witch of the era, the Order's most crucial member, Weasley's lover, teacher's pet." He stopped briefly, to eye her, waiting for the mask to drop. "Sometimes, I wonder why the Dark Lord has such a keen eye for you, especially since he despises Muggles. Perhaps it is that over analytical brain of yours that threatens him or the fact that you had ties to Potter." He threw his cigarette bud onto the ground, stomping it out with the heel of his foot, watching as the ashes rose to the heavens. 

Hermione didn't know much about Adrian Pucey, only the fact that he was a world renowned mind healer at St. Mungo's and a Slytherin. She knew how protective he was about family- it was all over the Daily Prophet. The most notable thing she knew about him was his Death Eater father had gone insane during the first war, and had killed his mother as well as older brother before his imprisonment in Azkaban. The recollection of the fact sent a shiver down her spine.

Adrian stuck his hand into his coat pocket, pulling out a similar vial to the one Theo had attempted to give her. He swirled the liquid in a rippling circle, watching as the waves clashed against the glass bottle- causing the crystalline liquid to cascade into a tsunami. 

"I heard you put on quite a show with Theo regarding this." He held the bottle up towards his head, using his eyebrows to suggestively gesture towards the teardrop shaped vial. "Don't blame you, though. Lover Boy didn't handle it very well."

Hermione's heart stopped beating, and she swore that she could physically feel the color steadily drain from her face. The blood in her system was growing heavy, slowly turning into lead. Everything inside her felt hefty, as if the world were crushing into her shoulders.

"Ron? Is he okay? Please, tell me!"

"Define 'okay.'" Adrian quirked an eyebrow at her, casually brushing his fingernails. "I wouldn't worry much about him. You have no idea what is about to come." 

With a quick flick of his wrist, all the contents inside the potion were emptied out. The liquid was almost vicious, reminding her of a tentacle. It moved fluidly, swaying in the air like the leaves bristling in the trees. Hermione cautiously examined the potion in this form, shuffling through her memory of the numerous potions she studied throughout the years. There was no shimmer nor texture present- loose and tame. It drew near her, mere inches away. Up close, she noticed how thin the consistency of the fluid was- not thick like how it appeared from afar. There was no distinct smell she could decipher.

Then it hit her: _Veritaserum_

"Are you giving everyone doses in this quantity? This is lethal, it can cause brain damage at this dosage!" The urgency pressed into her voice. "You should know that."

"Someone is very thorough." His tone was bored.

She bristled at his indignation, ignoring the recurrent throb in her lower back. "Your job isn't much of a secret when your face is in front of the Daily Prophet all the time."

"Enough with the small talk, Miss Granger. Take the potion like the good little girl that you are," Adrian gently coaxed, nearing the gelatinous tentacle toward her mouth. 

Hermione knew the permanent impairment Veritaserum caused: memory loss, atrophy of the brain, hallucinations, paranoia. The minimum amount was two to three drops. No more than half a teaspoon was the maximum dosage in a twenty four hour period. This was doubled, completely suicidal.

But there was no choice, no escape from the inevitable. The tentacle adhered to her face, covering the complete front of her face- causing her to simultaneously drown in the watery substance. Adrian had animated the water to have a mind of its own, it was an advanced Personification charm. Water was tricky to work with- the mind needed to be serene and the chemical structure was delicate. 

After what felt like an eternity of internal suffocation, it dissipated into her every fiber until she was intoxicated. The potion took effect immediately. Her brain pulsated causing her vision to haze into a surreal blur. It tingled and her senses were over heightened- the water dripping from the cage, her heart beating into her ears, the chains shredding against the metal. All the sounds swamped into her at once, causing an excruciating migraine to emit. Her brain was on fire. The pressure in her head intensified, causing her brain to slowly swell till it squeezed against the boundary of her skull.

The cage was slowly being lifted upwards. She dug her fingernails to the palm of her hands until they bled, radiating the pain anywhere but her mind. The sudden change of light saturation almost blinded her, she felt her pupils dilate as they adjusted to the brightness. The room was a huge oval, filled with thousands of Death Eaters in the stands leering down at her. As her cage came to a halt in the direct center, there was a body hurriedly getting dragged out of the room. Hermione couldn't determine who it was, but they were grey like thunderclouds and the entire body was convulsing against the force of the Death Eaters grasp. She managed to swallow hard as she fought against the agony.

Voldemort sat with Nagini lounging against his shoulders on a banc resembling a throne.. The throne he sat on was full of bones- made from arms, legs, rib cages and skulls. A sudden cryogenic chill fanned out throughout her. All the happiness deep inside her nucleus was replaced with sorrow. The empty void inside clung onto those memories as it dematerialized into the black hole taking over her heart. She forced her eyes above and numerous dementors soared above her, ready to feast off the last clinch of hope and felicity she had left in stock.

Everyone was talking amongst themselves as they scrambled to find a seat. Hermione quickly scanned to note any familiar faces. In the end of the aisle was Blaise Zabini, accompanied by his father, his facial expression was timid. Seated directly in front of him was Graham Montague, Gregory Goyle, and Millicent Bulstrode having a stoic look present. In the middle row, the Parkinson's were passing the same bottle of Elderflower Wine, looking quite content with how their life played out. Hermione swore she got that same glint of mediocrity she got back in fifth year, everytime she insulted her teeth. Before Pansy broke her gaze away, she turned her head sharply, gently biting Theo's earlobe, as he tugged her closer to him. The first row was dedicated to his loyal followers, people he deemed vital. 

The Black and Malfoy family were indispensable to Voldemort; they had been loyal from the beginning. Bellatrix had hunger in her eyes, watching as the cage slowly jarred to a halt. The Malfoy's had the corresponding smug expression on their face, the same regality to them as she remembered. Draco sat with his arm on his knee in a deep trance, absent from the present world. Adrian sat immediately beside him, crossing his arms as he eyed the time impatiently bouncing his leg from inactivity.

The heeled shoes clicked against the black ceramic floor, as the woman neared toward the center of the room. Booms of laughter and conversation continued in the court room, despite her standing confidently in the middle of the room. 

"Ahem!"

All eyes grazed on Dolores Umbridge, as everyone haphazardly took their seats and mumbled their finished dialogue.

Umbridge had looked exactly how Hermione remembered her- chubby, dressed in baby pink, face painted with makeup that didn't match her complexion, and the same mousy voice that grew to infuriate her. 

"Thank you for your undivided attention." She curtly commented, as she tapped her wand against her hand- pacing in a straight line. "Fellow Death Eaters. Today, we are having a trial for the desirable Mudblood friend of Harry Potter." A flood of profanities and disapproval jeers resonated off the walls. Voldemort held his hand up as the sound dimmed to sharp quietness. "Today, the Dark Lord shall deliberate if she is deemed worthy to live in his agenda despite her blood class. She will be asked a series of questions under the influence of Veritaserum. Furthermore, all opinions and queries can be stated after the questioning." 

It was hard for Hermione to concentrate on her surroundings, everything blended together. Her vision was doubled- tripled, zooming in and out as the sounds melted into a tragic melody. 

Umbridge conjured a parchment of her case file into the air, it was long and listed endless crimes she _allegedly_ committed. "The defendant is being trialed for treachery and treason. Isn't that right Mudblood?"

"Yes." It slid off her tongue, not missing a beat. The potion had full control of her vocal cords. It was as if her subconscious took the seat, pushing the real Hermione into the shadows- stealing the spotlight.

"Is it true you were alongside Potter locating horcruxes to help take down the Dark Lord?" Umbridge was sharp like a knife, straight to the point.

"Yes." 

"Is it true you started a cult in Hogwarts called Dumbledore's Army, intended to coerce students to fight the war, teaching them defensive and offensive spells that weren't approved in the curriculum that would call for immediate expulsion?" 

"Yes." She grunted out between her teeth, the pounding in her head was amplifying- the enchanted cage wasn't helping either, feeling the sting vibrate in her bones. 

Umbridge pressed her lips into a tight line. "Is it true you also were an active member of the unsanctioned secret society known as the Order of the Phoenix, to partake in ending the rebellion?" 

Hermione tried to consume her reply - aggressively biting her lip as a sort of outlet for the built up exasperation slowly boiling inside. But she wasn't strong enough to withstand the potion, it always won.

"Yes." She belted out, her eyes stung from the sweat bleeding down her forehead. "Please, it hurts." Black and white spots flashed repetitively in her line of vision as her brain screamed out from over-stimulation. "It hu-hurts too much, please...Please..." 

Umbridge ignored her cry for help, continuing the long list of offenses. "Was it you who decided to break into--"

A heart-wrenching wail coming from deep inside her tore through every wall and layer. The pain had made its way inside her soul- ripping her every being into tiny fragments. It was the similar scream she wept out when Bellatrix maimed her forearm.

"Were you the one who broke into Gringotts and used Polyjuice potion to disguise yourself as Bellatrix Lestrange in order to steal an ancient artifact that didn't belong to you?" 

"Yes, it wasn't just me. It was Ron and Harry as well," She started to shake against the restraints, her voice raspy from her outburst. "The sword rightfully belonged to Harry. Dumbledore left it to him in his will."

Umbridge exhaled a shrill laugh as she shook her head, wagging her pointed finger at her. "Miss Granger, have I not taught you any decency of manners in your fifth year? We mustn't tell lies. The sword wasn't for Dumbledore to give away, it strictly belonged to the school."

"I'm not lying, I'm under the influence. I couldn't lie if I wanted to. Maybe you need a dose of Veritaserum yourself, does your precious Dark Lord know that you are responsible for a Horcrux getting destroyed?"

Umbridge paused mid step, slowly turning her body to Hermione's direction- she was flustered, caught in the act. "Beg your pardon?"

"Usually Horcruxes are sentimental to its master, as it is part of their soul." She grimaced again, before continuing on. "The other Horcruxes we tracked down were more challenging to find, but you made it particularly easy with the locket around your neck. You wore it with pride, knowing it was a way to upper your rank being the one who guarded it, especially since you weren't ordered to do so."

Umbridge gaped her mouth open, eyebrows arched- her eyes siding back and forth toward Voldemort and Hermione- a faint pink the same color as her bodysuit started to ripen across her face. 

Hermione had cracked her exterior, causing the fissure to expand till Umbridge would fall into the free falling nether to hell.

Umbridge's expression shifted into pure outrage at the dirty secret that was bottled up inside her. She pulled the cuffs of her suit up to her forearm, storming her way closer to the cage. There was a snap of her fingers that caused the restraints to unlock from its hold- dropping Hermione to her knees. 

Hermione felt the world linger mid orbit around its axis as time hindered to a stop. There was a chance to breathe and decompress. She traced the premature bruise starting to form on her wrist from how tightly she was seized by the cuffs. 

It was not even a minute later, when Umbridge was mere inches away from the cage, as a Cruico left her lips. 

Hermione's eyes rolled to the back of her skull, head smacking against the metal frame, body convulsing violently- arms and legs bending in ways that weren't humanly possible. She had been so used to the Cruciatus Curse- memorizing the way the pain coursed through the body, as if it had become a part of her. But this was different, this pain was by far the worst she had encountered since being imprisoned- because Umbridge truly despised her, which meant the pain she inflicted was excruciating. All the sound around her cut out to a high pitched screeching noise till there was dead silence- leaving her in a pitch black ravenous cavity. She was ready to let the empty void take her, and could hear the whispers beckoning at the call. A faint smile curved at the corner of her mouth, it would be nice to be rid of all this pain building up on the inside and out. All that built up pain she desperately wanted to relinquish, pain that she had terribly wanted rid of since sixth year. 

There was a blinding white light hurtling toward her, the auras of light slowly filling every hole of darkness. In the distance, there was a twinkle of a shadow figure- almost as if someone were walking towards her direction. Slowly and steadily they approached, and her heart broke into puddles of relief to see her best friend hold out his hand. 

Harry.

"Is it really you?" she whispered out, completely bewildered.

"Yes, 'Mione, it is me."

She was speechless, unable to come up with anything to say to him, still in complete shock at the sight of him. 

"Hermione, I am so sorry I let you down." His voice was light and ethereal with a slight echo.

"No, don't you dare." She whisked the waterfall of tears away, sniffling a sob away. "I should be the one apologizing. I didn't work hard enough. I should have researched more, reread that book on the Dark Arts and Goblin Ware. It is entirely my fault you died and- and--"

Harry had a playful laugh as he rested his hand on her shoulder, making her shutter with warmth at how real it felt. "Hermione, don't blame yourself. I am proud of you- everyone, for willing themselves to sacrifice their life to fight alongside me." That same crooked smile filled her with bliss, the same smile that was reminiscent of their childhood. 

"Harry, what do I do now? The Order has fallen. I don't know how to come back from this. I am tired of the pain and lament eating away at me." Her words were garbled in between cries.

"It's not time yet," he urged, gripping both her shoulders as he shook her lightly. "I will see you soon." His figure was slowly disappearing into the light.

"Please, please. No, don't leave me alone," she continuously begged out, as she fell to her knees and clung onto herself- burying her head into legs. "I'm so-so cold and weak. Harry, please..."

Instantaneously, there was another flash and she was back in the courtroom. "ENOUGH!" Voldemort bellowed out, causing the whole room to quake- apparating down to where she stood. Umbridge broke the Unforgivable and the pain was gone as she continued to twitch and writhe from the aftermath. "I didn't say you could torture her to death, if that were to happen it would be under my own hand."

Umbridge's tight neat hair had wild strands fall out, she tucked them away while adjusting her body suit- straightening out the wrinkles. "My Lord, she was getting out of line. I had to take drastic measures." 

"Yaxley and Dolohov, escort Umbridge out. I will deal with her later," Voldemort commanded as he waved her off. 

Two flying shadows dropped into the courtroom as they reappeared into human bodies. Both of them collectively, grabbed Umbridge under her arm and dragged her out. "No, my Lord, please forgive me. It wasn't to double cross you, I promise," she pleaded the whole way out of the room.

The room's attitude was raw and tense. The silence was piercing as all eyes were on the Dark Lord. Voldemort titled his head to the side as he eyed Hermione, his fingers brushing against his chin. 

"I think I heard enough about this one. Let's concur the next phase, my loyal servants." He folded his hands together, looking around the room. 

"My Lord," Lucius began, raising his hand before standing up. "The Mudblood doesn't have her cufflinks on. Umbridge forgot to enchant the cage again."

Adrian rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. The aftermath of the Cruciatus mixed with the effects of Veritaserum can leave her brain dead. I'm sure the Dark Lord doesn't want to delay this trial any longer."

"Ah yes, thank you, Disciple Pucey." He nodded his head toward him. "That is why you are higher ranked than Lucius." He made sure to let the last bit of the sentence sting at the end.

"Let's kill her, my Lord. She has proven to be a nuisance since the beginning," Bellatrix taunted, licking her teeth wildly. "We must be rid of all the Mudbloods in the wizarding society."

"Let's turn her into a weapon. Perhaps a vampire or werewolf," Greyback held no restraint in his voice, it was hungry. "I would gladly do the honors." 

"I say we torture her till she dies!" Another person in the crowd hollered.

"Yeah! Or give her the Mark, my Lord!"

The Death Eaters continued to ramble their ideas while Voldemort pondered his next move. Hermione weakly managed to change positions- forcing herself to sit perpendicular into a tight ball. 

"I have come to my conclusion." His voice was slow as he enunciated each word with a cold tone. "In my plans for a better world, I need more bodies to carry out my missions- bodies that we don't have enough of. I have decided to keep you alive."

_What?_

Hermione felt herself pale as the blood drained out her body, she was ready for her fate. The fate to die and the world to slowly decay away. This didn't feel right, it was too... easy.

"But you must do a task for me. You see, I have a special operation that some people weren't qualified for. I can't sacrifice my people, but you.. you shall do just fine." A devilish smile showing his pointed teeth blared on his mouth. "I order you to kill every living person left in The Order and anyone who fought by Potter's side that night."

 _No_.

"If you don't oblige, I will make you watch as I single handedly torture each one to death while you watch in silence, the blood of them on your hands alone."

_This was a true nightmare._

"It will be then when you complete your task, where I will deem if you shall continue to walk this world again." Voldemort turned away, snapping his fingers. "Yaxley, Dolohov. Take her to her cell. Case adjourned!"

Her cage flew open. The old Hermione would run, fight for her life and demand retribution. She would fight for her friends to honor their deaths. The blood inside her pumping with virtue and integrity. This Hermione couldn't. She was brittle, almost ready to break at the slightest touch. All her fragmented pieces, scattered into an unsolvable puzzle. They dragged her away, identical to how Umbridge had been forced out. 

Her mind was blank, like she was frozen in this catatonic state. Even when they threw her into her cell, even when they spit at her and called her a _Filthy Mudblood_. Even when she cried herself to sleep to wake up in the same ongoing godforsaken tragedy her life had turned into. 

Hermione would rather die than kill her colleagues- let alone anyone. She didn't want to live in this world where he dictated an endless maelstrom of chaos and bloodshed. The genesis of dystopian perdition that would ruin the world- a ticking time bomb bound to explode. 

Harry was wrong. She was ready to die. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this was hard to write. This is kind of why it takes me so long to update, I write with a lot of attention to detail. So I apologize, I know how frustrating it is to not know an update schedule but patience is virtue I guess <3 excited to see your response to next chapter 
> 
> Playlist  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Hg3uiJDCjt0gpJMKE6v0o?si=31Bv3RfQT5Wdovrga47ofA&utm_source=copy-link


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE THE CHAPTER. This chapter contains sensitive material: suicide/self harm. I have added asterisks to when they start and end. Please skip the scene if you need to. If you do choose to read it, please take caution.
> 
> Teardrops- BMTH (Inspired this chapter)

  
  


December 15, 1998

  
  


It was always the same.

A lucid dream tattooed permanently into her brain. The same eerily unfamiliar destination as the caliginous sky looms above her– radiating its glacial energy that encompasses her veins. 

There was a bright light– almost a glitch of static that rippled her point of view to change the scenery into a cornfield. She was surrounded by a ring of fire, flames dancing violently to match her quickened heartbeat.

Her wand cast a green light– a body collapsed to the ground. The void inside her was numb and empty, sucking the color from her skin to replace whatever palpable feeling was trying to burst its way through. She would cautiously walk towards the body, grappling with the remorse consuming inside.

This is what she dread the most– looking down at the lifeless eyes, so abandoned with memories that had been planted and flourished from years of blossoming into becoming something– a human being. A human who had feelings and beliefs that she took away, pulled at the roots and left the soil to rot.

_An exterminator._

Her eyes shot open, gasping out for starved breaths as her stomach tied itself into a gruesome knot. All the acid instantly ascended to her throat, her mouth heavily salivating as she tried to swallow back the nausea– but it continued to crawl its way up. 

_You will kill everyone in the Order..._

Slowly, the content in her stomach was simmering..

_...or it will be by my hand..._

Now, boiling.

_...and the blood shall be on your hands._

She grabbed the cauldron from the corner and regurgitated what little she had left in her abdomen. Hermione sat with her knees drawn to her chest– cauldron in the middle for support, continuously rocking back and forth to ease the anxiety that pumped through her bloodstream. Her body was blisteringly cold, most notably from her lack of appetite and dehydration, as her eyelids grew immensely heavy– fighting off days and weeks of slumber.

It took everything in her capacity to fight the night terrors that were embedded into her mind– destroying every part of her brain to make room to fill every aspect with horror. It was hard to blink the vivid terror away, as it constantly replayed like a broken record. Even if she closed her eyes briefly, it crashed into her sight. 

What was she to do? 

All her morals were in question, being interrogated by the rights and wrongs that were imperceptible to comprehend. But it did not matter, there were no choices offered. It was a blatant order to beckon all her weakness– for she was the mouse, ready to walk into his trap to cleave every fiber of her soul. 

Hermione could not fathom to think of all her friends dying at the hand of someone as heinous and evil as Voldemort, being his toy till he was pleased with his recess before they met their brutal demise. The calamity of reality was imprinted on her flesh. The reality that has scourged her blood from crimson red to black tar. 

She had to be the one to fulfill the task given. She had to swallow back the acid accumulating in her jaw, burying the notion away. 

Hermione was never a religious person. She believed there was a holy presence, but was left skeptical if the testimonies of the holy tome were true. It was something she always bit her tongue down on the topic to avoid further conflict. But a sense of hallowed vitality seemed to awaken inside her, a box that had never opened fully. 

She slowly switched positions to kneel on both knees, bowing her head down to her sternum. In a world full of sin, Satan and Death in perfect symbiosis diffusing off their insatiable hunger as the Earth decomposed away from the plague of it all. Hermione eased her breathing– in for the count of three and exhaled deeply– clasping both her hands into a tight ball, releasing all the tension in her body towards her fists. 

“Anyone, if you are up there, please send me a sign. Please, I am begging you,” she desperately whispered the mantra as her lips brushed against her fingertips. 

All she wanted was a sign that she was making the morally right decision with the matter on hand– that after the deed was done, there was at least a particle of virtue as the payment. A sign that heaven would welcome her with open arms despite the blood shed by her own hand. Maybe this was a test, like Abraham and Isaac– who had sacrificed his son because God asked– in the end, redemption was given. His son wasn't sacrificed, instead a ram took his place to spare his life. 

It was as if the heavens had granted her plea, as the gate to the cell opened leisurely slow. Her head snapped toward the noise that reverbated off the walls, completely at a loss being entranced at her thoughts. A pile of clothing had abruptly fallen to the ground as she eyed the items and the figure looming above her. The only thing that was completely vivid were the expensive dragonhide pointed dress shoes that tapped against the stone flooring. 

A quiet _Lumos_ slightly luminated the room, enough to see in front of her. As she wearily grabbed the articles, her eyes peered above her. The male looking down at her was pale as snow, almost iridescent as the gleam from the light scattered against his skin. The chiseled masculine jawline was sharp enough to cut through a diamond. His platinum blonde hair was quiffed like a range of mountains. The grey eyes clouded over as the thunderstorm rolled along his iris. His posture was straight, and he radiated confident energy as though he was the lightning in the storm.

“What in the bloody hell are you looking at?” Draco affronted, keeping his posture straight and guarded. “Get dressed. It's your lucky day. You're free.”

 _Free._ Hermione wanted to laugh at that. 

She wasn’t free, not with the sacrilegious mission hovering above her– besieging every waking day. She started to sort through the garments brought upon her. There was a navy puffer coat, a pair of black leather gloves, a plaid scarf, a white fluffy beanie, and a pair of snow boots. Hermione hesitated at first, trying to grasp at the reality she was in.

“Well, get a move on!” his voice rose, causing her to jump from the silence she was accustomed to. “I don’t have all day for you to sit there staring off into space.”

She stood up feebly, throwing the coat onto herself. “Where am I going?” her voice was cracked from how dry her throat was.

“What does it matter? It’s better than being locked up in this hell hole,” his voice was cold, containing a sense of irritation as he leaned against the cell. 

She pressed her lips together, holding back a retort. It wasn’t her place to bite back, her body couldn’t handle another Cruciatus Curse. Hermione briskly finished dressing herself as Draco moved out of the way, inviting her into the open. She halted for a brief moment, looking back at the enclosed space that she had grown accustomed to– nights where her anxiety would reach its peak, as the walls slowly enclosed around her. To even think about walking into an open environment had her shuddering from the unfamiliarity of it. 

Draco sighed from frustration, grabbing her arm and pushing her forward. The door behind them slammed shut. He still had a hold of her arm, propelling her forward as she tried to keep up with his long strides. Her head snapped in multiple directions, heart beat shuddering, as she eyed the hundreds of cells that made up her aisle. Several people were against the cage- pupils dilated, hair wild, manic from lack of contact, holding their hands out begging for help- voices pained with despair. Some were cradled to the corner of their cell, crying or staring off in the distance. 

She could have sworn she saw a lot of the cells had stiff bodies as their energy climbed toward the Promise Land.

They went through another door that led into a tunnel, their footsteps echoed against the small puddles dripping from the stalagmite directly above them. There was a circle of light at the end, growing closer as they stalked forward. Hermione opened her mouth to start a sentence, her mind was churning with questions.

“I am not answering the list of questions you have for me, Granger.” He chortled out, blatantly rolling his eyes for exaggerated effect.

If she were being honest with herself, she wasn't sure if she was ready for the veracity of the queries she had in mind. Maybe it was better for them to be left unanswered, leaving her apprehensive.

The ray of light grew brighter as her pupils absorbed the blinding bulbs. As soon as her vision grew accustomed, they stood in a room plastered in white until her eyes stalled at the scene. The air was sterile and noxious– the formaldehyde blared through her nostrils, causing her to wince slightly at the smell. The room was just a canvas, waiting for the paint of destruction to plaster its walls. There were several gurneys with suffering patients, their screams were ringing in her eardrums. The blood was everywhere, as if Picasso had finger painted the illustration. Healers were frantic, chanting healing spells as the potions levitated above them. To her right, a Death Eater had his leg twisted halfway off, only ligaments holding the extremity intact. To her left, multiple Healers were hurriedly replacing intestines from a dehisced wound– diagnostic charms blaring like a siren.

It was a ravishing wartime masterpiece. 

Draco grabbed her arm tigher, rushing her forward. There was a metal door with two masked guards standing like sculptures towards the end of each side. As they were exiting, the guards halted them mid-step. "Identification?"

"Is that absolutely necessary?" His tone was tense, as it slid through his teeth.

"You know protocol." The masked figure spoke with authority, ensuring rules were abided. "Just because you're a Malfoy, doesn't mean you get things handed to you on a platter."

Draco huffed, pulling the sleeve of his left arm to display the Mark that was etched for life– the mark that birthed purgatory.

They murmured a spell she couldn't quite understand– perhaps Latin she assumed. There was a holographic mirage soaring in the air, resembling a badge. His profile was displayed with identification numbers, blood status, personal information of all sorts in small wording. The two guards nodded in agreement, waving the screen away. 

"As for her, she needs the device implanted. It's a decree you must--"

"I'm not a bloody idiot. I know how things run here, I'm a Disciple for a reason," he seethed out, causing the grip on her wrist to tighten.

 _Disciple_. She heard that term get addressed toward Adrian during her trial. What was the meaning behind it? Surely, it couldn't mean followers. His following already had a category: Death Eaters. Hermione shoved that knowledge on the back burner. It must be pertinent.

Draco urged her arm forward as the rightmost guard pointed his wand against her forearm. 

" _Ad Inuestigandum_!"

A bug-like creature appeared on her skin. It was shiny like metal, its pointed legs skated across her skin. Suddenly, it burrowed into her arm. She bit her lip, feeling like her muscles were being torn wide open. It masticated its way till it nestled to the deepest layer.

Another holographic card appeared in her peripheral, identical to Draco's. The guards were sufficed with the gesture, moving toward the side to let them through. 

"Long live the Dark Lord!" They saluted in unison with an arm behind a back and a hand high in the air.

As the door slid open, they retracted outside. Hermione was at a loss for words as she tried to digest the chaos fermented in the atmosphere, causing her legs to turn to gelatine.

It was immensely difficult to breathe from the smoke and debris weighing down on her lungs. The streets of houses collapsed inwards, every other one left in ruins. Small fires kindled, spreading like wildfire in the distance. The population hurdled in the streets were grimy, their eyes told of the hardship the crusade had given them. Each of the men and women appeared the same– dressed in the uniform color of khaki. The Death Eaters were spectating the laborers, while most had the Incarcerous Spell in the form of a whip, ready to punish those who didn't oblige. 

Draco was unphased by the ambience around him. The look on his face was neutral– almost as if this were commonality. As they trudged along, she desperately wished to unsee everything orbiting into view.

As they neared the end of the street, turning the corner was a male tethering rope rather eager– like seconds were coming to an end.He tied one end into a circle, repeating the same movement on the other end. The boy threw the rope over a lamp post, making sure to nail one side into the ground. He faltered for a brief second, staring– almost contemplating his next action. 

The boy turned his head to make contact with Hermione as the green eyes filled with forlorn swiveled down the drain. Hermione managed a gasp as she realized the friendly face that passed her through the corridors of Hogwarts– always the first to hold a door open, a smile regularly on his face, part of Dumbledore's Army in fifth year.

Zacharias Smith.

*****

He exchanged a quick bob, as he climbed onto a chair. His lip quivered as a tear slid down his cheek, palms wobbly as he guided the noose around his neck. With one exhale he stepped out into the unknown. His lungs were gasping for ventilation, wanting a breath of fresh air in this convoluted world of fire and brimstone– until everything went still, body resting from the writhing and asphyxiation. 

*****

Hermione turned her head away sharply– tightly closing her eyes, shaking away the corrupted memory of his protruded optics bursting through its sockets. A putrid smell was contaminating the ozone, almost chemical laced with decomposing flesh. She regretted opening her eyes to see the glimpse of human carcasses, bones, burning skin, bleeding profusely on the ground. 

The over-stimulation of smells, sight, and sounds had caused her stomach to hit the floor. The bile was speeding up her throat as she retched all the egregious moments chastising her cerebrum.

"Come on, Granger, we are nearly there." He pulled her arm, to continue the trek through the veil of darkness. 

Hermione let him guide her as her mind drifted to an unearthly safe haven. It was as if her mind deflected the murderous scene around her– like it was all just a hallucination, as the shouts and cries dwindled like the stars.

They were approaching a complex of identical terraced houses– every other structure was left in ruins. It was a red brick house with a chain fence bordering the foundation. This wasn't the typical terraced house seen in pictures. The upper level was concave, stacked in a ruinous pile on top of the disheveled rooftop. If this were a parallel universe, it would be kindred and quaint– a place she could grow old in, watching the world rotate on its axis as children grew older.

Draco darted up the steps, waving his wand to fling the door open. He shoved her inside, following behind her back, as the door closed to block the hysteria from outdoors. He took off his trench coat, hanging it on the rack beside the door.

The inside was miniscule to say the least– not what she had in mind. It was very plain and open, the living room and kitchen all on the same plan. She looked up and noticed there was a charm to replicate the ceiling to hide the destruction from the exterior. 

She wanted to grab that fake façade and crumble it– distort and tear that semblance till those pieces fluttered away as a distant memory.

"What's the matter, Granger? Are the prison cells nicer than _my_ establishment?" he jeered as he made his way to the kitchen counter, grabbing a glass as he poured himself some firewhiskey.

Hermione hadn't realized the judgemental expression written across her face– an eyebrow slightly quirked, lips pressed in a hard pressed line, eyes analyzing each scrutinizing detail. She shook her head as she hugged her arms around herself. 

Draco shook his head as he raised the half filled glass to his lips. "Poppy!"

A crack hustled in the air as a small house elf appeared out of thin air. She had on a frock that appeared to not have been washed in decades, over top the dress was an apron tied into a bow. 

Poppy bowed. "Yes, Master?"

"Show her to the washroom. It's bad enough to have such filth in my home, let alone smell it." He waved them off, eyes peeled to the paper in front of him.

Poppy curtsied, grabbing her hand as she stumbled along with the creature. Poppy opened the door and snapped its fingers to fill the clawfoot tub with steamy water. Towels, toiletries, hair accessories and beauty supplies hovered in the air, a soap pellet fell into the bathtub, causing bubbles to boil over. The clothing tugged off her body, leaving her exposed. 

"Poppy will clean up when the Miss is done." 

Another crack sound, and she was alone. Alone to relish in her thoughts. Alone to bask in the memories she will never relive. Alone to feel the emptiness return. 

She was numb, spiraling into the galaxy as it sucked every bit of tangible emotion, leaving her grasping for the one thing beckoning her name: Darkness.

Her eyes peeled to the mirror, the reflection of a girl she didn't recognize. Hermione drew closer to get a better look. She held her breath as her hand touched the chapped blistering lips at the sight of her.

She looked like a walking skeleton. 

Her body was drained of color, scrubbed with bleach. Her thin, malnourished figure exposed the bony prominences protruding out. The smudged black circles under her eyes, becoming more prominent in the light. Her hands traced through her brittle hair as some strands came out with a slight touch. She traced the small of her neck, the teeth marks still embedded into her skin. Continuing down, she traced over the bruises lining down her body, stopping at the one hitting the top of her thigh.

Hermione huffed, grabbing a washcloth, straining the excess water out. She started to meticulously scrub her skin, wanting rid of the daily reminder that would brand her for eternity. She scrubbed till her skin was raw, needles continuously radiating throughout. But no matter how much she cleansed herself, the marks remained.

She clutched the porcelain sink with her trembled hands, sucking in a sob. The Golden Girl was dead, murdered in cold blood. This was someone who stole her carcass, stealing the identity of Hermione Jean Granger. 

Hermione punched the mirror, ashamed of who she had become– a coward. The pieces shattered to the floor, broken just like her. Slowly, she bent down and grabbed a shard of glass, casually examining its properties. 

*****

The pad of her finger was hovering over the tip of the fragment. A warm liquid started to ooze from a prick on her digit, she was oblivious to the infliction– but yet, it felt somewhat cathartic to feel a familiar sensation.

Curiously, she took the shard– lingering over the words that tainted her every being: _Mudblood._

A quick exhale had led her to outline the scabs, making the letters bleed to the floor. Reconfirm who she was– a filthy Mudblood.

It was almost euphoric– to watch the blood drip to the floor, feel her skin crawl underneath the voluntary infliction, fulfilling the withdrawal in her system.

She eyed the artery that could give her the saccharine taste of ending the life she desperately didn't want. The subconscious inside her coaxing those desires from within. 

_Just do it_.

She inched closer.

_That's it. You know what to do._

Her hand began to tremble. 

_Be bold._

Her pulse was thready, bounding beneath her skin.

_One knick and you can see everyone._

_*****_

_Everyone._ What would they say about her? If she were to join the fallen, would they praise her, greet her with warm arms? Or would they be ashamed? Ashamed she didn't sacrifice her life protecting the ones who were still fighting?

She froze, dropping the fragment as she backed towards the bathtub. 

_Heh, coward._

Hermione collapsed into the tub, causing the crystalline clear aqua to turn scarlet. "NO!" She wailed out, grabbing a fistful of hair with both hands, as her body quivered against the pools of water. "No, no, no," she continuously whispered out till her voice broke into nothing. 

She continued to sit there, bathing in her sorrow, watching the blood drip into the water, letting the slow trickles sedate her mind.

Maybe one day, she will be bold enough to do it. Because she didn't want to be Abraham anymore. She wanted to be Isaac.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, you are all loved. If you are in a low and dark time, please feel free to message me! I will be more than glad to hear/talk to you. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long, it was a very dark headspace to get into. See you soon xoxo


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